Well, I put on women’s clothing, and hang around in bars.
Mind if we call you ‘Bruce’ to keep it clear?
No, no…Brian
Admittedly, I skimmed, and saw an argument sketch happen twice too!
And to continue…
“Excuse me, miss?”
We’ve already got one!
But it’s my only line!!
You lucky, lucky bastard!
No, “Aaaaaaaarrrgggghhhhhh”, at the back of the throat.
Also, in the Inverness pantomime last Christmas, the part of Puss in Boots was played by a native of New Guinea with a plate in her lip, so that every time Dick Whittington gave her a French kiss, he got the back of his throat scraped.
French Soldier: I’m French. Why do you think I have this outrageous accent, you silly king?
Sir Galahad: What are you doing in England?
French Soldier: Mind your own business.
Ah! Hein…Reginald you have the wrong map here you silly old leg-before-wicket English person.
Reg: All right … all right … but apart from better sanitation and medicine and education and irrigation and public health and roads and a freshwater system and baths and public order … what have the Romans ever done for us?
after the spanking, the oral sex!!
Right, you two hermits, stop that sketch. I think it’s silly.
Oh! Come and see the violence inherent in the system! Help, help! I’m being repressed!
Nobody expects the Spanish…oh bugger.
We apologise for the fault in the subtitles. Those responsible have been sacked
You bastards! You vicious, heartless bastards! Look what you’ve done to him! He’s worked his fingers to the bone to make this place what it is, and you come in with your petty feeble quibbling and you grind him into the dirt, this fine, honourable Man, whose boots you are not worthy to kiss. Oh… it makes me mad… mad! (slams cleaver into the table)
I don’t wanna talk to you no more, you empty headed animal food trough wiper! I fart in your general direction! Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!
Right. I had to get up at ten o’clock at night, half an hour before I went to bed, drink a cup of sulphuric acid, work twenty-nine hours a day down at the mill and pay the mill owner for permission to come to work, and when we got home, our mother and father would kill us and dance on our graves singing Hallelujah.